


Achieving Death

by ioanite



Category: Forever (TV), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry has a long awaited meeting with someone he should have encountered a long time ago. The conversation is rather...unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achieving Death

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by one of Matt Miller's tweets regarding his plans had "Forever" been allowed to continue. I just brought it to the logical conclusion, and threw in a crossover for good measure.
> 
> I'll be honest, I have no idea how to tag this thing. I like the way it turned out, but the content is...a bit off-kilter. Any suggestions about how I should tag this would be greatly appreciated.

Henry jolts out of the nothingness with a start. For a moment, he thinks he’s about to break the surface of a river, before he remembers that there _are_ no rivers anymore. The last one dried up at least a million years ago. He’s been stuck like this ever since, curled in the fetal position, insensible and yet vaguely aware that things are happening around him. It’s an odd sensation, and while not exactly pleasant, at least it’s a respite.

But _something_ has to have happened for him to have come back to consciousness. He opens his eyes, only to be confronted with a sea of black. There’s nothing to see, hear, or touch, though it seems to him like he’s lying on solid ground. He clears his throat to make sure he’s not deaf, and the sound seems to echo. Looking down, he can see his hand, almost white against the blackness. It’s starting to get a bit unnerving.

“Hey there.”

The voice startles him, and he jumps, even though, based on the feeling of solidity under him, he never actually moves at all. Sitting up, he turns towards the voice, only to blink in surprise. Not only is he not alone here, but he’s seen this woman before.

He’d only ever caught glimpses of her. She was the last thing he’d see before his resurrection cycle started, giving him a smile or a wave just before the world went black. But he’d know her anywhere, even though her style’s changed over the years. She’d started out in a black tank top and leather pants, then moved on to a neo-Victorian style dress, a top hat with two silver gears attached to it perched jauntily at the corner of her head. Now, she’s in a loose pair of black jeans and a simple black t-shirt/windbreaker combination, with no accessories except the omnipresent silver ankh she’s always worn.

She grins at him, her hands resting casually on her knees. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” Henry answers, pushing himself up to mimic her position, “Honestly, at this point, I just want _something_ to happen, one way or the other.”

“I can’t blame you,” the woman says, “It must be boring just floating there, millennium after millennium. Do you know why you’ve woken up?”

“Judging by the lack of scenery,” Henry says, looking around pointedly, “I’ll assume we’ve finally reached the heat death of the universe.”

“Yep,” the woman nods, “It’s all gone. Every lifeform, every planet, every sun. There’s nothing left out there, which means my job is done. I’ve closed up shop and tied up every loose end…except one.”

She reaches out and taps Henry on the nose. He stares at her, feeling hope flare up in his chest. “Does this mean it’s finally over? That my curse will finally break?”

“I wish it were that easy,” she says apologetically, “But I’m afraid not.”

Henry stares at her in disbelief for a moment before burying his face in his hands, a crushing wave of grief and anger surging through him. “Why not? Everything else has gone. And why am I the one left behind, when people like Adam were allowed to…”

“Listen,” the woman interrupts him, “It’s all over but the shouting, so there’s no harm in me telling you this. Things move in cycles, you see. I’m sure you noticed that. But sometimes, the cycle can take a while to start properly. It needs to figure out the direction it wants to go in. So it reaches out, puts out some feelers, tests the waters, whatever you want to call it, and looks for a good place to start. Once it’s made up its mind, the other options are allowed to fall by the wayside. Do you see?”

“No,” Henry says curtly, “If you’re here to taunt me, I’d rather you just finished it and left me to the nothingness.”

“If you’d like,” she says with a shrug, not put out by his tone, “But you won’t be alone for long.”

“What do you…” Henry begins, then stops as she reaches out and presses her index finger to the center of his forehead. All at once, things seem to blur and spin around him as the weight against his forehead grows heavier and heavier, until he has to lie down again. He’s vaguely aware of the woman standing up and murmuring “Good luck.”, but all he can focus on is the odd twisting sensation inside him, as though his very atoms are constantly disassembling and reassembling themselves. He’s felt something similar in the seconds before resurrection, but never for this long and to this extent. Dimly, he feels like it should hurt, but instead, it’s as if he’s stretching his muscles after sitting down for too long, putting himself to rights.

He looks back down at his hand, which is the only thing that seems to be in focus now, and sees that it’s changing. With a certain detached fascination, he watches as it grows whiter and whiter, going from the color of flesh to the color of bone to the color of milk, then changing into shades of white there are no descriptors for. He turns his head away for a moment, trying to come up with a name for it.

All at once, things stop spinning. Henry blinks, shaking his head to clear it. By the time his head stills, he realizes that he’s somehow standing up, even though he doesn’t remember moving. And where there had been darkness a second ago, something—or rather, some things—have now appeared.

There are two women sitting on a bench, looking in his direction. One is wearing a white nun’s habit, the brim of her wimple covering her eyes, as her fingers softly stroke the corners of a thick, black book. The other is tall and muscular, fiery red hair done up in a ponytail, wearing a grey shirt and pants and playing cat’s cradle with a piece of red string. She smiles at him. “Welcome, brother. We’ve been expecting you. Come on, join us. We’ve got a lot to discuss before the others arrive.”

He hesitates, looking down at himself to stall for time. That’s when he realizes he’s not naked anymore. Instead, he’s in an outfit that wouldn’t have been out of place back in 1815; black riding boots, white breeches, a black frock coat and a white, frilled shirt. But instead of an ascot or cravat, there’s a scarf hanging off his neck, bright as gold. Out of habit, he takes the scarf in his hand and flips it over his shoulder in a practiced gesture. The fabric is cool to the touch and feels like it’s made of mesh, and yet it’s as soft as silk.

Henry closes his eyes for a moment and exhales. As he does so, all the frustrations and tensions of his past slip away, replaced by contentment and a certain steely resolve. It’s not how he’d hoped things would turn out, but if this is his lot, then so be it.

Death opens his eyes and smiles back at his siblings. “How long will we have to wait?”

“Who knows?” Destruction says with a shrug, “Life’s a tricky thing to create, after all.”

Death sits beside her, offering up his hands so that the two of them can create new patterns. “And yet once it’s started, it’s nearly impossible to stop.” he points out, looking out into the void. Far off in the distance, he can see the first specks of light starting to form. “I look forward to seeing where things go from here.”


End file.
